So I Ironed the Shirts
by mariel123
Summary: Lou struggles to cope with devastating personal loss.


Disclaimer: I do not now, nor will I ever, own The Young Riders.

A/N: This story is a companion piece to The Smallest Things, but is also a stand-alone piece. Please read the author's notes following the conclusion of the story in order to have a full understanding of its purpose; I would very much appreciate that.

So I Ironed the Shirts

My horse was dead.

What can you say when an animal is your best friend? I tried to tell some people that, and I got more than a few funny looks. How can that be? some asked of me. A horse is just a dumb animal, can't talk, can barely even think for itself. All it wants of us are some vittles and water, maybe some shelter. Somethin wrong with a person who calls a stupid beast of burden a friend. Servants, that's all horses are. You need to get some people for real friends.

I eventually gave up trying to explain; it seemed that most people were too stubborn, too set in their ways to even consider my point of view. Only those closest to me, those of my Pony Express family, understood what I meant. Hell, even Jimmy, the toughest one of all of us, once described Sundance as knowing him better than he knew himself. The others understood too, to some degree or other.

Maybe Ike understood better than anyone. He had named his horse Amigo, the Spanish word for friend, and he truly was Ike's friend. The bond they had ran deeper than words, after all; Ike was able to speak to Amigo with actions and gestures but part of me thought that Amigo didn't need words, that he knew exactly what Ike was thinking even as he was thinking it.

And that was how it had been with Lightning and me. He had been my constant companion, and I his, all through our days riding for the Express and beyond that. I don't know how many hundreds, even thousands maybe, of miles he had carried me. I couldn't begin to count the hours we had spent together day and night over time, through thin and flush and all kinds of weather and everything in between.

When I came to the Express that day in Sweetwater, a skinny scared shadow of a not-quite woman, I hadn't chosen Lightning. Oh no. Lightning had chosen me, had made his way through the other horses and riders inside the paddock and walked quietly up to me just as nice as you please. He was a tall rangy black with a white star, perfectly ordinary in every way, not flashy like Katy or aristocratic like Sundance. I had heard Cody comment to Jimmy with a snicker that the two most homely creatures belonged together, that the two mutts of the litters suited each other, wasn't that right? Buck and Ike had exchanged a look then glared at Cody; Jimmy shot him a look of contempt; Kid had just muttered "Ah, shut yer piehole already." Cody hadn't scored any points with his judgemental brand of humor that day.

Lightning had made a point of knocking off Cody's hat then stepping on it. From that point on, we were inseparable. Out alone on the trails together, I talked to Lightning as I would to any human. After all, I didn't have anyone else to talk to. I felt as though I couldn't talk to anyone without giving away my secret - and besides, there wasn't anyone I felt I could truly trust. No, Lightning bore the burdens of my secrets, listened patiently without judgement. I grew to love and trust him as I did no other until Buck.

Horses by nature aren't cuddly creatures. But Lightning gave me every reason to believe that there was something in his soul that was capable of and willing to understand me, to like me. Maybe even care about me. If not, he was a damned fine actor, better than I'd seen in any stage play. Except, I knew that animals don't act. They just are.

Lightning listened to my fears, saw all of my tears. He stuck by me through my brief relationship with Kid, stayed by my side as I cried when I knew it was over. He was there when Buck and I first became friends, then lovers, then man and wife. More than anything I wanted Buck's and my children to learn to ride aboard Lightning - quiet, steadfast, unshakeable.

But that wasn't to be.

Lightning already had some years on him when he came to the Express. He wasn't as young as some of the others, had already known hard work. Still, anyone who truly knew horses could look at him and see the value in him that went beyond mere looks alone. It's what we call heart, and his heart was huge. He gave all he had and then some.

So there came a day in October just a couple of weeks shy of my and Buck's second wedding anniversary. Buck had gotten up early to tend to the horses so I could lie in for a few minutes longer than usual. Rachel and I had been working endlessly getting ready for the coming winter - a particularly difficult task this year as Teaspoon hadn't been well. Doc Barnes said it was his heart acting up, not unusual for a man of his years. The boys had had to take over for Teaspoon while he was ailing, and that meant that Rachel and I had had to take on the extra work left by the fellas. I was plumb exhausted, and Buck understood this.

I was mixing up a double batch of blueberry muffins while Rachel tended to the milking. I had just slipped the pans into the oven when I heard Buck's light footfalls on the porch steps. I poured him a cup of freshly-brewed coffee. He smiled his thanks but set the cup back down on the table. His expression was uncharacteristically sober, and I began to feel uneasy.

"Buck?" I whispered hoarsely. "What - ?"

He reached for me. "It's Lightning, Lou" he whispered softly, his arms around me. "He died sometime during the night."

"No" I said, breaking free of Buck's protective embrace and turning to stare at him. "No. You're wrong. He just has the colic again, that always puts him down - "

Buck sighed and ran a hand over his face. "I wish I was wrong, Lou. But this time I'm not. His heart just - gave out. He wasn't a young horse any more, he was getting more and more tired all the time." Tears welled in his eyes. "I am so, so sorry, honey. So very sorry."

I felt my knees start to buckle and sank down onto the nearest chair. A choked whimper escaped from my throat; I began to sob.

I felt Buck's presence next to me and raised my head. Tears poured from my eyes.

"He was the best friend I ever had" I choked out. "Buck - what am I going to do without him?"

The words dropped like heavy stones into the silence. Buck, bless his heart, didn't even try to answer right away.

"I don't know, Lou" he said finally, with a sigh."There's nothing I can say that'll make you feel better. It's just going to hurt like an open wound before it even starts to think about getting better."

I knew that Buck was right and I appreciated his honesty, but it didn't make me feel better. I cried all that day, couldn't even think about eating, vaguely acknowledged the fellas' condolences. Ike was the only person who was able to reach me through the thick fog of my grief; I knew that he, more than anyone including Buck, understood the greatness of my loss. Amigo was his best friend, aside from Buck and Emily and me, had carried him all through the Express and understood the loneliness that Ike always felt around other people. Now Amigo was beginning to get old and tired, and Ike knew the dreaded day would come when he, too, would have to say goodbye to his greatest friend.

I didn't sleep much; I tossed and turned until Buck rose and made his way to the barn where he could get some rest. The next day at sundown, Lightning's body was laid to rest inside a cairn of rocks and stones that would keep predators away. I went so far as to place a wooden cross atop the large mound: it read simply "Lightning - my best friend".

I sat there awhile, alone in the dark.

The next week passed; my outward show of grief grew less but my guts ached with the pain of loss. My mind was filled only with thoughts of my horse. I felt heavy and laboured, somehow, as though I was moving through a wall of something thick like syrup. Oh, I went through the motions of carrying on as usual but my heart sure wasn't in it. Buck and Rachel watched me not eat, not sleep, and I knew the love they had for me, the caring, but it didn't help. I knew they worried that I would make myself sick with grieving.

I felt sick anyway.

Then one day I was alone in the kitchen, supposedly watching a batch of apple jelly bubbling away on the stove burner but my mind was far, far away. Before I knew it, the smell of burning apples and sugar filled the kitchen and the kettle began to smoke - the jelly, untended by me, had scorched then burned. It was ruined.

"Shit!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "Damnit all to hell!"

Potholders in hand, I grabbed the smoking kettle and shoved it roughly into the sink. The kitchen and probably the entire house stank of burnt jelly, but I didn't gave a damn. I felt as though a dam had burst inside of me.

I grabbed a wooden spoon and threw it as hard as I could. It hit the front door hard enough to chip the paint. I grabbed every utensil I could find and threw every single one of them. I cussed and cried until I puked, until there was nothing left to cry with. I sank onto the floor and rocked, back and forth, saying Lightning's name over and over again, until my mouth grew too dry to speak even that single word.

Suddenly I felt very calm.

I got up off of the floor and wiped my face with my apron. I cleaned up the mess I had made then picked up the utensils, cleaned them, and put them all away. I scraped the ruined jelly into the slop pail to go to the pigs later, then filled the burnt kettle with water to soak. I took a long drink of cold water and spied the washbasket sitting inside the front door full of shirts to be ironed. I knew what I had to do.

I set the iron to heat on top of the stove and set up the ironing board. I fetched the washbasket and set it on top of the table, and, stretching out Buck's favourite dark blue shirt atop the ironing board, sprinkled it with water and calmly began to iron out the creases.

I ironed all afternoon, carefully and mindfully, until the basket was empty and the crisp shirts were ready to be put away. While I worked I thought of my great friend, how he had worked carefully and mindfully at the most menial of tasks, giving every job all that he had and then some. He had never balked at what was given him to do, and at the end of it all he still had the heart of a lion.

He had taught me so much, had never stopped giving until he died, and even then he kept on giving. For I realized I had dishonored his memory with my carryings-on, my selfish grief. I had thought only of myself, of my loss of his physical presence by my side, hadn't realized that love carries over even through death and grows stronger with each passing day.

The sun began to slip lower in the sky and I fried up a big pan of chops, set potatoes in the oven to bake, cut up cabbage to boil. I made a big Charlie pudding the way Emily had showed me, baked loaves of bread. By the time Rachel and the fellas came in, the table was set and dinner sat, hot and ready to eat. Rachel shot me a look of pure gratitude, amd Buck kissed me gently on the mouth.

"Welcome back" he whispered tenderly. "I've missed you."

I felt my insides well up with love at his words. "I'm feeling better now" I whispered, "so I ironed the shirts."


End file.
